


Indulgences

by hyracula



Category: Daredevil (TV), Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anonymous Sex, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyracula/pseuds/hyracula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, but this wild stranger appearing out of nowhere tugged at his reckless nature. Matthew Murdock, J.D., member of the New York bar, shouldn’t be having anonymous trysts. And yet, here, with his mask stretched comfortingly across his nose, the throbbing pain in his knuckles singing a counterpoint with his thudding heart, he couldn’t think of a single reason why not."</p><p>In which Matt Murdock and Jessica Jones have an unexpected encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As his fist slammed into the man’s face with a dull thwack, sending a spray of blood across the gangbanger’s face with a wet pattering sound, Matt grinned. _I fucking love this_ , he thought. Later would come the guilt, but here, in this moment, with adrenaline coursing through his veins and a deserving target before him, Matt could admit to himself that he even loved the guilt. It felt right, somehow. A penance to pay for this moment of indulgence. Momentarily he wondered what Father Lantom would think of this moral arithmetic, but the thought was banished when he heard a set of footsteps-- no, two sets-- creeping up behind him. Matt slammed the thug’s head into the pavement one more time, then whipped his hand up just in time to catch the thrown brick flying toward his head.

Spinning, Matt smashed the brick into the second man’s face, dislocating his jaw with a sickening crunch. Matt could hear the boots of another man behind him scuffing the cracked pavement, but before he could plan an attack, air currents buffeted his skin as his would-be attacker went flying into a pile of garbage sacks. Matt dropped the man in front of him with an elbow and a knee as a woman’s voice rang out. “Stay down, asshole,” she said.

Matt could hear her heart-- light and quick, excited, but not winded. “Nicely done,” he called out.

“You’ve got some good moves yourself,” came the reply. A few bootsteps on pavement, and she was in front of him. “I would have left you to it, but I’m on the job and I thought I should make a token effort.

“On the job?” He could smell leather, unwashed denim, cheap whisky-- not a costumed hero, then. “You’re a mercenary?”

“Private investigator.” She was quiet for a moment, and he heard a bottle slosh, a top unscrew, and the telltale scent of ethanol wafted across his senses. “Is that supposed to be a costume, or do you just dress like that? Are all the kids wearing bandanas on their faces now?” she asked as she raised the bottle for a sip.

“It’s to protect my identity,” he answered, tugging his mask down.

“Hmm. No names then,” the woman said, a grin evident in her voice. “Drink? Or are you working?”

“Not exactly. Aren’t you?” Matt said, taking the proffered bottle from her hand.

“Perks of being freelance,” she answered as he raised the bottle to his lips. _Jim Beam. Not as bad as it could have been_ . “And now I’m off the clock,” she added, taking the bottle back. One more _glug_ , then she tucked the bottle away-- and took one more sudden step, pressing her body into his.

“Oh!” he began, before he was silenced by her mouth on his. She kissed him, hard, before breaking it off just as suddenly.

“Like I said, I like your moves,” she breathed into Matt’s mouth. “I’d like to see some more of them.”

Matt raised his hand, rested it on her cheek. Smooth skin, angular face, long hair brushing past his hand. Beautiful. And apparently dangerous. _Just my type_ , Matt thought ruefully as he leaned in to return the kiss. It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, but this wild stranger appearing out of nowhere tugged at his reckless nature. Matthew Murdock, J.D., member of the New York bar, shouldn’t be having anonymous trysts. And yet, here, with his mask stretched comfortingly across his nose, the throbbing pain in his knuckles singing a counterpoint with his thudding heart, he couldn’t think of a single reason why not. He pulled her face to his and kissed her back, mouth hot and urgent.

Ok, maybe one reason why not, he reflected ruefully as a cab whipped around the corner, narrowly missing the streetlight they stood under. They both jumped back, the strange woman yelling “Watch where you’re going!”

“Maybe we should go somewhere out of the street?” Matt suggested as she glared at the retreating bumper. The woman stepped back, looked around, then took his hand and led him into a nearby alley. She grabbed a doorknob, turned it hard, and the door popped open with a cracking noise. “Oh look, somewhere out of the street,” she said.

“Was that unlocked?” Matt asked as she led him inside.

“Sure,” she answered. Their voices echoed back-- a big room, a warehouse probably. Matt could sense large solid objects laid out regularly-- crates. Wooden ones, from the piney tang in the air.

Matt stopped in front of one thigh-high crate, and pulled her close again. He kissed her, open-mouthed and hard, grabbing at her hip with his right hand. With his other hand resting on her face, he ground his erection against her. It pushed up roughly against her pubic bone, but when she gasped and kissed him back harder he didn’t care. He slipped his right hand into the back of her jeans. They were tight, but his fingers ran across the soft skin of her ass and around her hard and bony hip. She inhaled, her heart rate spiking, and Matt broke off the kiss.

“Is this all right?” he asked as he worked his hand around to the front, resting against her lower belly. 

“Oh, hell yes,” came her answer, the final word turning into a gasp as Matt thumbed open the button of her jeans. Pushing the fly down halfway, he slid his hand under the waistband of her underwear. She gasped again, louder, as his fingertips grazed rough hair. Matt cupped his hand, curving his fingers under, and slid his middle two fingers into the cleft of warm skin. The woman gave a strangled moan and bucked her hips forward, but his wrist was trapped by the layers of fabric still between them. 

Removing his hand, Matt began to pull the woman’s jeans and underwear down before she pushed his hands away and sat down on the nearby crate. She loosened her bootlaces and kicked off the boots with a practiced motion, then peeled her jeans off with considerably less panache. Matt knelt and pulled them off past her ankles, dropping the warm fabric on top of the boots. And then she was there, one leg on either side of his face as he knelt on cold uneven cement. He could feel the heat radiating off her thighs, and despite his unthinking boldness to this point Matt hesitated. 

“Enjoying the view?” came the voice from above him, sarcastic despite a breathy huskiness to the words.

Matt laughed, a single snort to himself. “There’s nothing else I’d rather look at,” he said, almost truthfully, and pushed his mask up to his eyes before leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek against the woman’s thigh. He was sporting his typical stubble, but from the way she moaned he assumed she didn’t mind the way it rasped across her soft skin. 

As she parted her legs, the smell of her hit him; coupled with the belt of whisky, the sweet earthy scent was enough make him lightheaded. “Oh, _God_ ,” he moaned, suddenly overwhelmed with need, and he pushed his face forward into her pussy. He spent a moment simply reveling in her, the heat and the scent and the taste as his mouth made contact with her soft warm flesh. And then he went to work, exploring her vulva with his lips and tongue, noting what brought a gasp or moan or spike in heart rate. When she hitched her leg over his shoulder and pulled his face in closer, he groaned loudly and fumbled for his fly. 

Matt shoved his pants down just far enough to free his cock. Taking it roughly in hand, Matt began to pump his fist in rapid even strokes. As he did, he closed his lips around the hood of the woman’s clit and sucked gently. She gave a strangled cry when his tongue caressed the exposed tip and bucked her hips, grinding into his efforts. He hummed in appreciation, drawing another gasp, and began stroking his cock more rapidly.

Increasing the speed in both efforts, he felt his orgasm welling up. With her hot sweet juices trickling down his chin, with her long muscular leg flung over his shoulder, with the low growling moans and high fluting gasps accompanying every flick of his tongue, Matt couldn’t last long. He tried to remain focused, but with a sudden spasmodic jerk he came. His mouth was still pressed into the hot wet cleft of her, his tongue moving erratically as he spilled on the grimy cement floor, and Matt moaned aloud. 

His entire body tingled, a pins-and-needles sensation like a limb waking up after a long sleep, and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this, his face buried in the sweet folds. Her thighs tightened around his ears, and he realized that he’d slowed the movement of his tongue. Throwing himself back into the task, he lapped and sucked at her clit, drawing out the hypersensitive tip. One of her hands had worked its way into the hair at the base of his neck, and when his tongue grazed the tip of her clit her hand tightened, pulling at the short hairs painfully. _This is it_ , he thought, and when he heard her give a series of muffled, gasping curses he grinned and simply held his position. “Fuck… fuck, fuck, _fuck, FUCK!_ ” she rasped out, thrusting her hips. He felt her pulse flutter, her muscles spasm, and he simply breathed and tasted as the orgasm seized her. 

They stayed like that for a long moment. Matt could feel tiny pieces of dirt and gravel digging into the flesh of his knees, but he remained kneeling before her as she caught her breath. One idle hand was stroking her thigh, and he was just considering leaning back in to test this beautiful stranger’s refractory period, when she suddenly set her feet down emphatically on the floor. Matt leaned back to avoid getting a knee to the face as she stood.

“So…” he began as she gathered her jeans and boots from the floor. 

“Yeah, this has been great, we should do it again sometime,” came the response from behind him. His legs were still weak, his cock exposed, his chin still dripping her fluids. He felt thoroughly debauched, but he tucked himself away and stood anyway. His knees groaned in protest as he rose.

“Oh sure, I’ll just wait by the alley for the sounds of bad guy screams,” Matt quipped as he turned. The woman was fully dressed, standing by the door. 

“No, really,” she said quietly. “This has… you’re… thank you.”

“Oh,” he answered awkwardly.

“Right,” she answered, inflection oddly blank. “Well, see you around.” And before Matt could respond, the door opened and she slipped out.

By the time Matt made it to the door, the alley and the night beyond were empty.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” she murmured, low, a hint of mischief in her voice. She reached up and touched his mask: simple black fabric stretched across the top half of his head, hiding his eyes but leaving his breathing unobstructed. “You’re a tough-guy vigilante now, aren’t you?” she said, running her fingertips across the edge of the mask, tracing along his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose, sending a frisson up his spine. “Saving us little people from the big bads of the world?”
> 
> In which Matt Murdock and Jessica Jones have another unexpected encounter.

The last rays of late summer sun were winking out over Manhattan as Matt sat on the edge of the rooftop, sheltered by an age-darkened gothic spire. The day had been pleasant enough, but in absence of the sun’s warmth the night was unseasonably cool. As the evening’s chorus of shouts and honks and breaking glass began, Matt settled himself cross-legged to listen.

The chill in the air set him to shivering, so he fell into meditative breathing. Stick didn’t believe in mantras, so he simply counted. In - _one - two - three - four_ ; hold; and out _two - three - four._ Focusing on his breath, the cold no longer touched him. He sat, and breathed, and listened. The cold night seemed to be keeping the criminals quiet.

After he had been sitting for over an hour and a half, judging by his nasal cycle, he stood to stretch his legs. His breathing exercises had let him ignore the cold, but his joints hadn’t been so lucky, and they creaked in protest as he rose. He had heard no cries of distress, no sounds of fear or violence, in the time he’d been sitting vigil. He was beginning to entertain thoughts of hot tea and whiskey in his warm apartment, when a scream broke his reverie. Matt was a connoisseur of screams, and they all told a story: this one of a man, hurt and afraid, cowering before his attacker. Then a crash, and a woman’s cry of pain; but Matt was already halfway down the side of the building, slowing his fall on the dark brick and using his momentum to propel himself across the street below.

He sprinted several blocks, triangulating the sounds to an alley behind a bodega. He rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt. Three figures were posed in a tableau-- a woman, standing tense, and two men, crouched against the wall. One man was speaking. “- stay back, lady, don’t fucking touch me.” As he raised his hands, he noticed Matt. “Help me man, she’s a freak!”

“Damn right I am,” she said, and he knew her. The strange woman who’d helped him take on a small gang a couple of months previously. And with whom he’d had an… intimate encounter, his law training supplied. He felt heat rising to his cheeks as he recalled the incident, and took an aggressively deep breath, _one - two - three - four_ , hoping the chill night would prevent his Irish complexion from showing the color.

If it did show, the man must have mistaken it for anger, for he suddenly flinched back. “Oh shit, it’s you, that devil guy.” Scrambling to his feet, he elbowed his companion. “Come on! No H is worth this shit.”

The hitherto silent man suddenly lurched to his feet and lunged at the woman. “Whoa!” she yelled, and raised her hand. The sounds reverberating back from the alley walls and the air currents stirred up by the action gave Matt a clear enough picture, but he still had a hard time believing his senses as the woman brushed him back with an almost offhand motion. She stood her ground, seized the man by his shirt, and _tossed him_ seemingly effortlessly down the alley. The man rolled and skidded to a stop before climbing limpingly to his feet. Looking back, he crossed himself before hobbling at speed after his retreating friend.

As they disappeared around a corner, the woman shouted “I’ve got what I needed anyway, douchebag!” before turning to face Matt and adding “They had an issue with me taking pictures of their drug deal. Paranoid motherfucker spotted me on the fire escape, pulled a piece.”

“From the sounds of it, you scared them pretty bad.”  Matt could still recall the strangled fear in the scream that had brought him here. “Why did he call you a freak?”

“What, getting eaten out by the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen isn’t freaky enough for you?” At her suddenly playful tone, Matt’s heart leapt into his throat.

“Ah… so you do remember me,” he managed.

“How could I forget? When I saw them call you that in the paper, I laughed.”

“Yeah, it’s… not the name I would have chosen,” Matt replied. “Really, though, I don’t know how much you told them about your sex life, but from the way you tossed that guy I’d guess you have some… extra gifts.”

“I work out,” she replied, deadpan, and Matt laughed.

“No, see, you’re small. I mean, you’re tall, but low-mass. You’d need to use some serious momentum to throw a guy who’s double your weight, but you did that from a dead stop. That says ‘gifts.’”

“Like the kind of gifts that let you catch a brick flying at the back of your head without looking?” Matt hesitated, and she added “Yeah, I was paying attention last time. You’re pretty ‘gifted’ yourself, I think.”

“Just you wait and see,” Matt muttered, and she laughed and stepped closer to him.

“I’d rather not wait,” she said, her voice rough, and she reached out to put her arms around his shoulders.

“Oh, whoa,” he began, when he was silenced by her mouth on his. She kissed him, hard and deep, and any questions he had about her abilities flew out of his mind, replaced by curiosities that burned darker and hotter.

When she finally broke the kiss, Matt was gasping for breath. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” she murmured, low, a hint of mischief in her voice. She reached up and touched his mask: simple black fabric stretched across the top half of his head, hiding his eyes but leaving his breathing unobstructed. “You’re a tough-guy vigilante now, aren’t you?” she said, running her fingertips across the edge of the mask, tracing along his cheekbones and across the bridge of his nose, sending a frisson up his spine. “Saving us little people from the big bads of the world?”

“I came running to save those guys from what turned out to be _you_. I’m pretty sure you can take care of yourself,” Matt answered, before leaning in to claim her lips again. He let his hands drift down to her hips before curling his fingertips in and pulling her close. His cock, half-hard, fetched up against her thigh, and she made a small noise and rolled her hips into him. Her hand slid down his back to rest on his ass, her fingers a maddeningly gentle touch before she squeezed, hard. At the sudden pressure on his sensitive skin Matt growled in the back of his throat and swung her around, pushing her backwards until she was pressed up against the wall. She gasped, sounding startled but pleased, as he ground against her, one hand on her face and one hand gripping her hip.

Pressing his body into hers, Matt kissed his way down her neck, her smooth skin sliding beneath his lips. When he reached the curved juncture of her neck and shoulder, he let his teeth sink in very slightly, and she cried aloud, an excited “Oh-!”

Matt broke off, panting hard. In a low rough voice, he spoke. “I would like, very much, to fuck you.” Kissed her neck again. “Do you have any thoughts on that?”

“Wow,” she answered, sounding amused through her breathlessness, “yes, I would like that, you  nerd.” Pulling his face up, she kissed him on the mouth, letting her tongue dart in before pulling back and saying “Do you have condoms?”

“Ah. No. I was, er, hoping you did.” Matt grimaced inwardly, trying not to let his awkwardness show.

“Not tonight,” was all she said. “But we are behind a bodega.”

In response, Matt kissed her again. “If you want…”

“Oh, I _want_ ,” she broke in.

Matt flushed. “I do carry cash with this getup. Let’s go.” Kissing her one more time, he peeled himself reluctantly off the wall and took her hand.

As they walked down the alley, Matt had to force himself to focus. Without his cane, he needed to pay attention to his senses to avoid walking into signs and tripping on trash bags. No small feat, with a soft hand squeezing his. She was rubbing her thumb against the back of his hand in slow small circles, and somehow the small touch was maddeningly erotic at the moment.

“Can you even see in that thing?” she asked suddenly.

 _She doesn’t know I’m blind_ , he realized. This was the longest he’d interacted with anyone in his vigilante guise, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him and not seeing a blind man first. In the heat of battle, it never occurred to him to notice. But now, in this oddly domestic moment, it seemed huge. Matt took a deep breath. _Don’t trip now._ “Yeah, it’s like a stocking. You can see through it when it’s right next to your eyes.” Or so he’d been told. “I’ll have to take it off when I go inside, though.”

They walked on in silence before the woman stopped and said “Here we are.” She pulled him close and kissed him, slow and lingering. “I’ll wait here. With my back turned, if you’d rather not compromise your secret identity. Mr. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

In response, Matt rolled his mask up, slowly, before pulling it off.

“Really?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“I’ve seen your face,” he said. _Touched it, anyway._ “It’s only fair.” And he leaned in to kiss her again, before turning and walking in the direction of the door.

Luckily the door was an automatic slider, and it whooshed open at his approach. Echoes in the room told him: aisles in front, coffee machines to left, counter to right. Sounds of a television. He walked to the counter and spoke in the direction of the clerk. “Condoms?” He kept his voice steady, but a part of him had never outgrown the embarrassment and always felt mortified asking.

The man grunted and rummaged under the counter, slapped a small package on the counter. Matt reached in his pocket, felt for what the fold told him was a ten dollar bill, and handed it over. He pocketed the change and retreated hastily to the street, cheeks hot.

Before the door had closed, he’d returned his mask to his face. Removing it had been a necessity, but here in the night with this bold beautiful woman, it felt right to be wearing it. When he took her hand, she made no comment but to kiss him, before pulling him into the alley.

Crossing to far end of the narrow lane, she stopped abruptly and pulled him back towards her, kissing him hard. “Now, where were we?” she said. “Oh, right about here.” She wrapped one leg around the back of his, pulling him close. His hardening cock bumped against the hard crest of her pelvis, and she hummed appreciatively. He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, nudging aside the collar of her leather jacket, and breathed in deeply before sinking his teeth into the curved flesh where her neck met her shoulder. She made a soft delighted sound at the sudden pressure, and he waited as her heart rate spiked before letting up suddenly. She moaned as he lay a gentle kiss on the spot. “Well,” she said in a husky voice, “what are you waiting for? Nerd.”

Matt growled and jerked her hips roughly toward him, grinding into her. He grabbed her face in his hand, letting his lips hover over hers. Then he dropped his hand suddenly and popped the button open on her fly. She gasped as he pushed down her fly and hooked his thumb in her underwear, sliding them down with her jeans. He brought his hand back up and slipped a finger in between the soft folds of her cleft-- and, _oh God_ , she was wet already, hot and slick against his hand.

She gave strangled moan. Matt moved his other hand up her back and around, under the soft t-shirt she wore, until he found her breast. She gasped again as he ran a thumb under the cup of her bra and across her nipple, the small nub hard under his calloused skin. He removed his hand from her underwear, fumbled in his pocket for the small flat packet, and then her hand was on his dick.

Matt gave a stifled moan as she rubbed his hard cock through his pants. He could feel the heat of her hand through the layers of fabric-- and then fewer layers, as she unzipped his pants, placed her palm on the bulge in his underwear. He groaned loudly before clamping down on the sound, and he tilted his head to get a better picture of the alley around them.

They stood against the wall in the shadow of a phone booth. Matt could smell fresh spraypaint from the phone booth’s walls-- not one that was maintained by the city, then, probably derelict. No one would come looking to make a call at this time of night. Last time he met this woman, they’d at least found an unguarded warehouse for their tryst. This time, they had no shelter but the shadows, shielded only by the cold quiet night. Despite the emptiness of the surrounding street, Matt felt a ribbon of panic run up his spine. The thought _What if we get caught?_ came unbidden to his mind, a vestige of adolescence, before he the thought was banished by the touch of a soft hand against the smooth skin of his cock. _No calluses_ , he thought, giddy and half distracted, _definitely “gifted”._

Her hand began to move, sliding up and down the length of his shaft, while she shuffled her jeans and underwear down and off. The light touch of her warm hand, in contrast with the cool night air, was enough to drive half mad. He took the crinkling plastic square and tore it open, felt for the tip of the rubber, rolled it down the length of his anxious twitching cock. As he did, she leaned in hungrily again, licking into his mouth. He pushed forward, pressing her back to the wall. She moaned appreciatively when he let his hands drift low, resting on the back of her thighs right below the curve of her ass-- then gasped deeply when he lifted and gripped her tightly. At the same time, he drove his hips forward, nudging his cock in between her legs. It brushed maddeningly against her folds once, twice, and then he shifted his weight and angled upward and oh _God_ he was _in_ , inside her, the smooth muscular walls enveloping him.

She gave a low, slow groan as Matt’s cock slid into her. His arms were already burning, holding her off the ground, but in this moment all he wanted was to stay buried to the hilt inside her slick heat. He shifted his grip to brace her back against the wall, and she wrapped her legs around him, taking the weight off his arms. Her thighs gripped his hips and her ankles locked at the small of his back, and the change in angle pulled him in deeper. “Oh, God,” he moaned aloud. He was dizzy with sensation, his nerves on fire and his head swimming. He tilted his head forward to rest against her shoulder, taking a deep breath: _one - two - three - four_. Matt inhaled the scent of her, like vanilla and salt and sex, before he began to thrust into her with long deep rolls of his hips.

She had fallen silent, but she began to buck her pelvis into him. Matt shifted his weight and matched her rhythm, speeding up.  As he drove into her, he reached one hand around to rest his thumb against the tip of her hard clit, letting their motion rock his hand back and forth. It was hard to hear anything above his own thudding heart, but her rapid hitching breaths told him his efforts were appreciated. She brought a hand down to lay on top of his, guiding his thumb to a slightly lower angle; when it rubbed against the underside of the small sensitive nub she hissed a deep intake of breath and tightened her thighs around him. God, she was so strong, keeping her weight entirely off the ground and thrusting against him. Her slick hot walls gripped his cock, and he thought he couldn’t take much more when she _squeezed_.

Matt groaned loudly and threw his head back, eyes closed under the tight mask. It was all he could do to keep up his hard fast thrusts, keep up the small flickering motions of his thumb. His whole body felt hot and feverish, the cool night air burning against the exposed skin of his ass. He barely noticed the spike in her heart rate until it was almost too late. She clutched his hand suddenly, holding it in place, and bucked wildly against it as she came with a soft “Ah!”

Matt wrapped his other arm around her lower back and held her, tight and close, as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her pussy spasmed erratically against his cock, and Matt knew he couldn’t last much longer. He adjusted his angle, still clasping her tightly, and thrust into her with abandon, forgetting his rhythm and simply giving in to the hot deep need growing within him. He was aware of her hand tracing up and down his spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. The light touch drifted up to his shoulder blades, when she dug her fingernails in and scratched a long stripe down the length of his back. The sudden pain was too much for his already overwhelmed senses, and with a shout that sent echoes back across the alley Matt came.

The orgasm shook his body, turning his legs and arms to water. Lightheaded and dizzy, Matt gasped weakly as his cock slipped free when the woman brought down first one leg, then the next. “Are you gonna fall down?” she asked, quietly.

Matt chuckled. His arms were draped loosely around her shoulders, and hers were wrapped around his lower back. They were almost of a height, and he leaned in to rest his forehead on her shoulder. “I don’t think so,” he said into her chest. “Though if it’s ok I’m not going to move for a second.”

They stayed like that a long moment as Matt caught his breath and feeling slowly returned to his limbs. Sweat prickled the back of his neck as it dried. Eventually, his awareness began to return, and he stood listening to the hissing of distant cars, the slams and shouts and smashing bottles, of the Hell’s Kitchen night.

His breathing must have changed, for the woman suddenly straightened up and said “Everything good?”

“Everything’s _real_ good,” Matt replied, and lifted his head to kiss her. “I was just thinking how distracting you are.”

“And that’s good?” she asked, kissing him back.

“Tonight it certainly was,” he said, and she laughed. Matt kissed her once more before reluctantly disentangling himself and stepping back. He removed the condom and tossed it in a nearby dumpster. _Oh God, we just fucked next to a fucking dumpster, and I still don’t know her name_. The thought brought heat to Matt’s cheeks as he put his clothes back in order.

“Hey,” he said aloud, then took a deep breath, _one - two - three - four_ , before continuing. “It’s Matt.”

“Really?” she said, surprised, looking up from lacing her boots. “I didn’t think-- huh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Jess.”

“Jess,” Matt repeated. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Somehow,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice, “I think we will.”


End file.
